


Kiss It Better

by burn_ish



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:59:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21807043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_ish/pseuds/burn_ish
Summary: It goes like this: Felix gets hurt, Sylvain patches him up.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 67
Collections: FE3H Holiday Gift Exchange





	Kiss It Better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kanakanastudio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanakanastudio/gifts).



> Written as part of the Fire Emblem 3 Houses holiday exchange for staragii! Happy holidays!! I hope I delivered on all the tension you asked for!! Blue Lions boys are so pure and I had lots of fun writing this. Please enjoy!!
> 
> Thanks to C for being my lovely beta, and to O and R for their help!

It starts when they're little; Felix picks up a real sword for the first time and promptly slices his palm open. He freezes, then turns around slowly to Sylvain, eyes already welling up with tears, his chin quivering but lips pressed stubbornly together. 

"C'mere," Sylvain says, holding out his hand. Felix takes it without a moment’s hesitation. 

He leads Felix into the stables, where he knows the stablehands keep a stash of clean bandages for on-job accidents, and grabs a few. He cleans the wound off with cold water and dabs some ointment onto it. Felix is stoic the whole time, a perfect poker face for a six-year-old, wincing only when Sylvain presses a little too hard. On a whim, he presses a kiss to his palm like his nannies do for him sometimes, and Felix frowns at him, confusion marring his face. "All better now, yeah?" Sylvain smiles down at him. 

"Yeah." Felix nods obediently, eyes downcast. "All better."

As the years go by, Sylvain learns to always keep a first aid kid on his person. Felix is always getting scraped up, whether it's from starting fights with older and bigger boys he can't possibly hope to win against, to going off into the woods hunting by himself. Sylvain patches up a scraped elbow from chasing a deer into a ravine, wraps up a twisted ankle after a particularly violent training session, and patiently ices a black eye after a 3-to-1 scuffle. At this point, Sylvain has to wonder why he hasn't at least looked into studying healing magic, if only on the side, but there's something to be said for the good old-fashioned way he muses as he presses his customary kiss to Felix's palm. Felix blushes angrily, looking away and muttering something under his breath about being grown up and not needing to be coddled, but he doesn't pull away. He never does.

\--

It's not as if Sylvain had expected life at the monastery to change much, but he hadn't quite predicted the number of injuries Felix still manages to obtain on a regular basis. There’s that one incident with the horses, the time Caspar from the Black Eagles house had forced him into a very aggressive arm wrestling match, and then, quite memorably, the fiasco with a set of rare tomes, a watermelon, and an axe. There’s still a little scar behind Felix’s left ear that serves as a constant reminder.

"What the hell?" Sylvain gapes as the door is flung open, nearly biting his tongue in surprise, and Felix storms into his room, fuming and cradling his left arm to his chest, which is covered in - is that egg?

"Mercedes," Felix grits out, tugging off his ruined shirt and tossing it carelessly to the side where it lands with a wet squelch on the ground. Sylvain winces. "She's trying to cook. Keyword, trying. Annette is trying to help. Important keyword here,  _ trying _ . I didn’t even know eggs could explode like that."

Sylvain nods in understanding and reaches for the burn cream, pulling Felix's hand toward him and applying the salve gently. "Next time, we'll make Ashe help with meal prep. The three of you together in the kitchen is just a recipe for disaster. Mercedes is amazing at baking, but somehow when it comes to cooking savory food…"

Felix grunts in agreement, allowing Sylvain to tend to him. Dinner that night is an inedible burnt mess of eggs, peppers, venison, and chickpeas. Dimitri is the only one who manages to eat an entire plate, munching thoughtfully the whole time. Felix doesn’t even try, eating only the few vegetables that Ashe had managed to churn out before Mercedes and Annette annihilated the kitchen, eyeing Dimitri suspiciously with every bite. 

Later that night, Sylvain passes Felix a box of breads and cakes that a woman at the market had given him. Felix tries to push it back, but his stomach growls and Sylvain winks at him. 

“Come on, we’ll split it,” he offers, and eventually, Felix gives in, following Sylvain back into his room.

\--

The Red Canyon changes something in them. The group is quiet as they return to the monastery. Annette leans against Ashe, her face pale. Felix is limping; Dimitri tries to offer him a helping hand but Felix shrugs him off. Dimitri watches him go, an unreadable expression on his face. The new professor is softly discussing tactics and pointers with Dedue, and Sylvain can’t help wondering how many battles they’ve seen. 

Later that night, Felix sneaks into Sylvain’s room, but Sylvain is still awake, his head spinning and restless. He puts down his book and shifts to the side, making room for him on the bed. Felix perches at the edge of the mattress, his eyes narrow, staring at something that Sylvain can’t see. He’s got a nasty gash on his shoulder from where an axe had gotten him, and Mercedes has already patched him up, but Sylvain looks for himself anyways, wincing at the healing wound, pink and tender. He dabs on an extra bit of ointment and reapplies the bandages. After a moment’s hesitation, he brushes the barest of kisses across his shoulder, and he feels Felix shiver under his touch. He pauses, lips hovering over Felix’s collarbone, then pulls away.

They sit side by side for a while, separated by mere inches, close. Part of Sylvain wants to reach out, tug Felix even closer to him, feel his warmth and the reassurance of his heart beating against his chest, but the other part of him is lost and confused. 

Is this what it means to be a knight?

They fall asleep at some point and it reminds Sylvain of childhood sleepovers, blanket forts, staying up past curfew. Felix’s features are soft in his sleep, the pinched look on his face gone, his lips slightly parted. His hair falls into his eyes. Sylvain resolutely doesn’t touch him.

He’s long gone by the time Sylvain wakes up, his blankets tucked messily around his shoulders, the other side of the small bed cold and rumpled.

\--

It only gets harder when the group is sent after Lord Lonato. Sylvain passes Ashe seated in the pews, his hands clasped together tightly, eyes squeezed shut, lips moving rapidly in silent, desperate prayer. Dimitri sits in the back watching him, his brow furrowed, and Sylvain slides in next to him, nudging him carefully. “What are you thinking about?”

“A lot,” Dimitri replies, rather cryptically. He looks up at the ceiling. “Do you think Ashe will be ok?”

Sylvain shrugs, following Dimitri’s gaze. “He’s strong,” he offers.

“Yes. He is.”

Felix doesn’t say anything as they gear up for battle, but Sylvain finds himself sticking to him like glue. They fight, back to back, and it feels natural, like they’ve been doing this for years. In a manner of speaking, they have - they’ve trained together, countless, sweaty hours spent whacking at hay-filled dummies and sparring with dull wooden blades. Here, with the clash of steel against iron, the metallic tang of newly spilled blood, the cries of the fallen, it should seem different.

It doesn’t. Not really.

Felix takes out a man sneaking out of the mist to attack Sylvain’s exposed back. Sylvain parries, saving Felix from a sword to the gut. He grunts his thanks, then whirls around, barely dodging a thrown spear. They take cover by an old tree, gnarled and weather-worn, backs up against the trunk, and Sylvain misses the warmth of Felix behind him.

When it’s all over, Ashe cries, ugly, heart-wrenching sobs that rattle something loose in Sylvain’s chest. He hangs back to offer him a handkerchief, wrinkled but clean, and Ashe takes it, wiping at his nose angrily. “Thanks,” he mumbles, his voice thick with tears. 

Sylvain seeks out Felix in the training hall before dinner, watching for a moment as Felix goes through the motions. He coughs to catch his attention, and Felix turns slowly. Their eyes meet. Nobody says anything. They just look at each other, and - 

“You hurt your ankle today,” Felix finally says.

“I wrapped it up.” Sylvain smiles reassuringly. “It doesn’t hurt too badly.” Felix frowns in response.

“Keep your weight off of it, idiot. Sit down.” He grunts, jerking his head towards the corner. There’s a chair there, one that looks uncannily like the ones in the dining hall. Sylvain grins.

“You got this for me?”

“No,” Felix sighs loudly, rolling his eyes. “But if you mess up your ankle even more, we’ll be down another fighter, and with everything coming up, we can’t afford to lose anybody.”

As he turns away back to his training, his cheeks are suspiciously pink. Sylvain’s chest feels warm.

\--

This time, it’s Sylvain’s turn to fall to pieces. He harbors no love for the brother who’s tormented him since the day he was born, but he is not so hard-hearted as to not feel a twinge of sympathy for a man he once looked up to. Dimitri sends him a questioning glance as their professor announces the news, and Sylvain shrugs.

“It’s fine,” he says as Dimitri opens his mouth to protest, his voice much calmer than he feels. “He’s no brother of mine anymore.”

He stalks off eventually, unable to fight off the feelings of betrayal, hurt, and _ guilt  _ suddenly overwhelming him. He sits in his room alone until Felix lets himself in, uninvited, closing the door behind him softly. They stare at each other wordlessly for a moment until Sylvain gives in, breaking eye contact. 

“You’re distracted,” Felix says calmly, crossing his arms.

“I’m not,” Sylvain retorts, unable to keep the heat out of his words. Felix arches an eyebrow delicately, his expression easy enough to read:  _ You fucking liar _ . “I’m not,” he repeats. “I’m thinking about the mission and other related things.”

“Mhm,” Felix hums, sounding wholly unconvinced. Sylvain rolls his eyes, slumping back against his bed.

“Why won’t people leave me alone?” He groans, punching a pillow half-heartedly. All he wants right now is to be left to his own devices, to sulk and kick things around, stewing in his own unhappiness.

“Because you never leave us alone,” Felix quips, pushing the door open with his foot to reveal a sheepish looking Dimitri. “This one has been pacing past your door for the last half hour and you haven’t even noticed.” 

Dimitri comes in, standing next to Felix, staring down at Sylvain. “If you don’t want to come with us…” he begins, a little hesitant.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Sylvain interrupts. “Of  _ course _ I’m coming. That’s  _ my _ asshole brother out there wreaking havoc, thank you very much. I want to be the one who brings him down. I want him to look me in the fucking eyes as I prove him wrong.”

Dimitri sighs heavily and takes a seat at Sylvain’s desk. “I get it,” he says, running a hand through his already disheveled hair, and Sylvain pictures him scrubbing at his hair in frustration as he waits outside Sylvain’s door for an invitation. The mental image almost makes him smile. “But I don’t want you doing something stupid, like taking on more than you can handle, or charging ahead, or - ”

“He won’t,” Felix says, softly but firmly. “I won’t let him.”

Sylvain looks up at him, at the determined set of his jaw, the slowly simmering anger in his eyes - anger on Sylvain’s behalf - and the way the setting sun lights him up from behind. He looks like an angel, Sylvain thinks idly, like an angel of war. 

\--

Slowly but surely, the battles get easier. The calluses on his hands get harder.

Felix still slips into his room late at night, coming and going like a stray cat. He’s gotten more prickly recently about letting Sylvain bandage him up, but he begrudgingly allows him to apply a cooling salve to a hard-to-reach bruise in the middle of his back. He barely suppresses a flinch as Sylvain presses a little harder into it, and Sylvain winces in sympathy. “Sorry,” he says, soothing the sting with a gentle, steadying hand on Felix’s hip. To his surprise, Felix leaves it be. Sylvain closes his eyes, letting his head dip forward so that he can feel the tickle of Felix’s hair against his nose. He inhales shakily; Felix leans back ever so slightly.

_ If we could stay like this, everything would be ok. _

Felix leaves again.

His chest aches and he scratches at it idly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Sylvain stays up all night, thinking about what-ifs and whens and nevers.

\--

Things spiral quickly from there. Jeralt is killed and the monastery is put on high alert. Sylvain can feel the tension wherever he goes, crackling in the air like electricity. First year students huddle about in large groups, conversing in hushed whispers. Seteth stalks the halls, a permanent frown etched on his face, and even Sylvain’s usual jokes don’t get so much as a twitch of a smile. Dimitri isn’t sleeping, the bruises under his eyes dark and prominent against his pale face, and he’s shutting everyone out. Even Felix tries, approaching the professor for intervention, but the professor has other things to worry about.

Sylvain visits the marketplace to replenish his first aid kit, making sure to stock up on gauze and healing salves, and to pick up a few groceries for the dinner crew. Felix comes with him, quickly paying for the supplies before Sylvain can call him out for it.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Sylvain says as they walk back together, the backs of their hands brushing occasionally.

Felix shrugs. “You’re using them mostly on me anyways,” he mumbles under his breath, the tips of his ears flushing red. Sylvain bites back a smile. 

“Someone’s gotta keep you patched up,” he jokes, knocking their elbows together. “If it were up to you, you’d be walking around dripping blood all over the place. Cyril might actually murder you.”

“As if I’d let him.” Felix sniffs, offended that Sylvain would even suggest such a thing. “I could take on that kid with one hand tied behind my back.”

They drop the produce off at the dining hall where Dedue is hard at work, stirring a pot of something with a grimly determined expression. Sylvain and Felix head back to their rooms, pausing for a moment to glance at Dimitri’s closed door. 

“He’s not in there,” Ashe says, coming up from behind them. “I tried earlier - but I heard someone say he was training?”

“Still? He was there when we left this morning…” Sylvain scratches his cheek. “Come on, Felix.”

As expected, Dimitri is in the training hall, sweat trickling down his face.

“It’s good to take breaks, you know,” Sylvain calls out as they walk in. Dimitri ignores them. “Even Felix takes breaks.”

“Hey!”

“Also, Dedue said you’re not sleeping.”

“I’m fine,” Dimitri finally snaps, whirling around to face them. His face is pale, his lips pressed together in a tight line, tension radiating off of his body. “This is fine,” he repeats, a little more gently. Felix arches one eyebrow delicately and Dimitri rolls his eyes. “Okay, so I haven’t slept in a bit, but if I tire out my body, I’ll be more likely to fall asleep tonight.”

“Right,” Felix huffs, sarcasm dripping from his words. “Just like it helped you fall asleep every other night.”

“Come on.” Sylvain steps in before things can go any further. “It’s a… weird time for all of us. But we’re no good to each other if we’re fighting, or if we’re too tired to pay attention on the battlefield. Try, Dimitri, to get some rest.”

Dimitri opens his mouth as if to argue, but then closes it. He looks at the ground. “I’ll try,” he says softly after a beat, and Sylvain smiles in what he hopes is an encouraging way. That’s good enough. For now.

\--

Sylvain loses sight of Felix as a boulder comes crashing down between them, dust and shards of stone spraying in the air, and his heart feels like it stops for a second before picking up like a racehorse, beating frantically against his ribs.

“Felix!” he shouts, fighting through the rubble, but all he hears in reply are the shouts of the ongoing battle around them, the cries of the soldiers, the flap of wyvern wings, the crackle of magic. There’s no sign of Felix; whether or not that’s good remains to be seen. “FELIX!”

There’s a flash of blue fabric - Sylvain reaches out, but he’s not there. The panic rises in Sylvain’s chest, gurgling and suffocating, his breath coming out in irregular pants. Darkness crawls at the edges of his vision and he shakes his head frantically, calling his name out again; amid the chaos, he can barely hear his own voice. 

Someone slams into his back and Sylvain whirls around eagerly; it’s Dimitri, his eyes wide and wild. 

“Have you seen...” Sylvain begins only to trail off as Dimitri barely spares him a glance before diving towards an enemy soldier. Sylvain follows behind to watch his back, still scanning the horizon for any sign of Felix. He pauses, frozen for a second. Then finally, against the crumbling wall of an archway, there’s a glint of steel in the setting sun and Sylvain  _ knows _ .

“Felix!” he cries again, taking off in that direction. Someone tries to stop him; Sylvain doesn’t even blink as he strikes out with his lance. 

He reaches him, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste, and Felix looks up at him, mouth parted. A fresh bruise blossoms across his cheek and Sylvain’s fingers twitch with a sudden protective urge. His hair is a sweaty mess, his clothes ripped and torn and dirty, and he’s the most beautiful thing Sylvain has ever seen.

“I’ve got you,” Sylvain whispers, reaching out to grasp Felix’s hand like a lifeline. He pulls him close, breathes him in, and presses a desperate kiss to the side of his head. “You’re here.”

“I’m here.”

For a heartbeat, the world is still.

Then, the monastery falls, and it changes everything.

\--

They find somewhere to sleep for the night, battle-weary and sore to their bones. Sylvain doesn’t even bother to change out of his clothes before falling onto the mattress, which sends a poof of dust flying into the air. He coughs half-heartedly. It’s a quiet, old little inn with creaky floorboards and threadbare blankets, but after the day he’s had, it feels like sinking into a plush mattress with silk sheets. 

“Clean yourself up,” Felix groans, throwing a damp towel at him. Sylvain looks up at him, frowning. “You’re disgusting. We’re supposed to sleep in that tonight.”

“Whatever, so are you,” he retorts tiredly. Felix rolls his eyes, shrugging out of his outer clothes. He takes a seat at the foot of the mattress, then begins to tug off Sylvain’s boots. His fingers brush against a sliver of exposed skin and Sylvain shivers. Felix undresses him carefully, then pushes at him so that he’s lying on his back, before grabbing the rag and starting to rub at spots of dirt and dried blood. Sylvain shivers again. “Felix…”

“Shut up and let me take care of you,” he says so softly that Sylvain wonders if he misheard. He keeps his mouth shut as Felix cleans him up as best he can, getting up occasionally to rinse the rag in the bowl of cold water the inn provided. He counts and catalogues the new bruises, scrapes, and cuts, and thinks longingly of his stocked first aid kit stashed carefully under his bed back in his dorm. He groans as Felix passes over a particularly nasty spot over his ribs, and Felix freezes. “Broken?”

“Just bruised,” he wheezes. Hopefully. Felix nods and continues, his touch now so gentle Sylvain could cry. 

He thinks of Dimitri’s face as Edelgard stood before him, the flashes of confusion, betrayal, hurt, then rage.

Felix finishes, drying him off with another rag, and Sylvain feels as if he could sleep for days, years even. “Your turn,” he mumbles even as his eyes begin to close, heavy as lead.

“I’m fine,” Felix says and Sylvain feels the mattress shift as he stands up. “Go to sleep, Sylvain.”

He does.

\--

He dreams of rubble and blood and the feeling of utter, complete hopelessness. His hands twitch and his heart aches. He reaches out to catch the edge of a fluttering cloak but it slips just out of reach. He begins to run after it, ignoring the cries of soldiers around him, and runs faster, faster. His hand is outstretched before him and he opens his mouth to call for him to slow down, to wait for him, to come back, come back Felix,  _ don’t go  _ \- 

Sylvain wakes with a jolt, his entire body shuddering. There’s something heavy draped across him and he struggles to free himself.

“Sylvain?”

Felix’s voice is hoarse with sleep, and the weight over him eases; it was Felix, Sylvain realizes as an afterthought. 

“Sorry, did I wake you?” He goes for a casual tone, but Felix’s tired snort tells him just how convincing he was. “Go back to sleep, Felix.”

Felix yawns as Sylvain turns to face him. His eyes glitter in the moonlight streaming in from the dirty window, his mouth slightly parted. “And you?”

“I’m fine,” Sylvain lies. Felix’s lips quirk upwards in the faintest hint of a smile.

“You’re a terrible liar, Sylvain. You think I don’t know how to read you now, after all this time?”

“I don’t know what to think any more,” he confesses on an exhale. He reaches out, touching Felix’s face. His skin is warm under his fingertips and before he truly registers his actions, his thumb is tracing circles over his cheek, memorizing the way he feels. Felix smiles for real this time, his eyelids fluttering shut, lashes dark against his pale cheeks. “Felix… Tell me if I’m doing this all wrong.”

Felix hums, shifting just the tiniest bit closer, then before he can stop himself, Sylvain takes the plunge, tilting forward to press his lips lightly against Felix’s. They’re chapped and soft against his, and Felix tastes like coming home.

His heart stops for a beat before Felix kisses him back, one hand coming up between them to grasp at Sylvain’s undershirt, curling in the thin fabric like an anchor. Sylvain makes a soft, desperate noise, and deepens the kiss. Felix opens up for him, his mouth hot, and Sylvain forgets how to breathe.

Eventually, they part, but just so. Sylvain touches their foreheads together and relishes the feel of Felix’s breaths against his face. “You’re here,” he says softly, tracing the curve of his mouth with his fingers. Felix’s tongue darts out to lick at the pads.

“I’m here,” he says, his hand cupping Sylvain’s face. “I’m here, Sylvain, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Sylvain wants to say something but he can’t find the words; instead, he leans forward to kiss Felix again, and nothing matters but the heat of Felix’s body pressed against his, strong and unyielding. Felix’s fingers are tangled in Sylvain’s hair, tugging almost painfully, but he doesn’t care. He trails kisses across Felix’s face, brushing his nose, his eyebrows, his jaw, his neck. Felix groans, tilting his head, and Sylvain kisses his neck again. 

“Sylvain,” Felix says.

“Felix,” he murmurs into his skin. Felix arches against him, guiding his head up to let their lips meet again, this time in an open-mouthed, frantic kiss, all heat and desperation. Felix’s teeth scrape against Sylvain’s upper lip, then his tongue flicks out to soothe the sting. He flips them so that he’s straddling Sylvain, looking down at him with his eyes wide, pupils blown, chest heaving. Sylvain reaches up to caress his face, and Felix turns into the touch, pressing a kiss into the center of his palm. He moves Sylvain’s hands so that they cross over his head.

“Stay like this,” he instructs, and Sylvain opens his mouth, but his protests turn into a whine as Felix’s hands slide up under his shirt, carefully brushing over his chest, avoiding his injuries. “Just like this,” Felix murmurs, nipping at Sylvain’s collarbone, and Sylvain groans, arching up towards him. “Don’t move now.”

Felix takes his time, working Sylvain into a panting, aching mess, and finally, finally, he’s sliding Sylvain’s pants down, kissing the inside of his thigh. “Fuck, Felix,” Sylvain gasps. Felix pauses, looking up.

“Don’t move,” he demands, and Sylvain complies, wrapping his hands around the bars of the headboard. “Good.” 

Sylvain nearly bites his tongue off in an attempt to stay quiet as Felix takes him in his mouth without preamble. He gasps, throws his head back back, then releases a litany of curses on the exhale as Felix begins to suck, one hand pressing down on Sylvain’s hips to keep him still, the other wrapped around his base. He wants to look, but when he glances down to see Felix between his legs, eyes fluttered shut in contentment, he nearly comes right then and there. “Felix,” he whimpers, his voice broken. 

Felix pulls off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Shh, I’ve got you.” Sylvain reaches for him, pulling him up for another kiss, and the taste of himself on Felix’s tongue makes him harder. He begins to push at Felix’s clothing impatiently, and he feels Felix’s smile against him before Felix leans back to quickly undress. Sylvain kicks his pants off, then Felix is back, skin against skin, and Sylvain can’t help but run his hands up and down his sides a few times, still in awe that this is real, this is happening, Felix is in his arms, here, with him,  _ wanting  _ him.

“Like this,” Sylvain whispers, taking them both in hand. Felix tries to muffle a groan against Sylvain’s shoulder, biting down, hips bucking, and reaches one hand down to join Sylvain’s, forming a tight channel to thrust into. “You feel so good,” Sylvain pants, kissing Felix’s ear, nibbling on the lobe. “Let me make you feel good.”

He runs his free hand across Felix’s bare chest, teasing at a nipple with his thumb, eliciting an involuntary whimper. “Fuck,” Felix lets out a shaky breath, his forehead resting against Sylvain’s cheek. “Do that again.”

Sylvain obliges, pinching harder, and Felix moans sweetly as their hands begin to move a little faster. He wants to cherish this moment, to stop time right here and have this forever, but he’s already so close to the edge. “Need this,” he gasps into Felix’s mouth. Felix’s tongue flickers across his lips and he opens up for him. Before long, Felix leans back, his eyes squeezing shut as he comes without a sound, spurting wet warmth over Sylvain’s hand and chest. Sylvain is right behind him, shuddering, pleasure washing over him in wave after wave. 

They stay like that, tangled up in each other, breathing each other’s air, hearts racing. Finally, with one last kiss, Felix reaches for the towel from earlier and begins to clean them up with slow, sleepy movements. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, echoing his words from earlier, and Sylvain smiles. 

“I know,” he replies, reaching out to intertwine their fingers, pulling him back into his arms. Felix tucks his head right beneath Sylvain’s chin, fitting against him like a puzzle piece, and Sylvain presses kisses into his hair. Felix tilts his face up and Sylvain can’t help kissing him again, and again, and again, until finally, sleep comes, and Felix dozes off.

Sylvain falls asleep to the beat of Felix’s heart against his chest, a constant, steady reminder, and the taste of promise on his lips.


End file.
